


Grown up children

by Lailaspace



Series: Grown up children [1]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Children, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lailaspace/pseuds/Lailaspace
Summary: Five times Sherlock and John behaved like children.





	1. Pillow fight

John and Sherlock were slumped on the couch. John, because he was tired and Sherlock because he needed to think. It had been quite an ordinary but tiring day (at least for John).

Sherlock had solved a case which had been baffling the Yarders (no surprise there), John had given his medical opinion, Lestrade had stood there open mouthed, Donovan had insulted and Anderson had been insulted.

John was just making up his mind to drag himself off to bed, too tired to even eat something, when Sherlock spoke.

"John"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to sleep."

"Why not?"

"I need a case."

"You just solved a bloody case!"

"It was barely a two."

"I thought you said it was a seven."

"Well, it was ridiculously simple after I solved it."

With a huff of impatience Sherlock got up and made his way to the coat rack, only to find his way blocked by a particular angry army doctor.

"Move, John. I have to put on my coat. It's cold outside."

"Why the hell do you want to go outside, when you've just gotten back?"

"Going to Scotland Yard, of course. Lestrade might have a case."

"Sherlock bloody Holmes, you haven't slept enough, haven't eaten at all and have been surviving on the tea and biscuits I've been forcing on you, for the past four days. You need food and rest. Not a case. So if I tell you to rest, you bloody well will rest."

With that John frogmarched Sherlock and forced him onto the couch from which they had just vacated, the latter groaning complaints all the way much to the displeasure and annoyance of the former.

Once Sherlock was seated, John made his way to the kitchen in the hopes of salvaging something eatable lest a particular detective keels over, when something hit his back.

Turning around he perceived a pillow lying near his feet. With a sigh he looked up and saw the detective sitting with his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. However, John being John also noticed a hint of a smirk dancing around Sherlock's lips.

Bending down to pick up the pillow, John made as if to put the it on the armchair beside him before a smirk of his own crossed his lips. Quick as a flash he threw it across the room, the pillow hitting it's intended target as it landed smack on the scowling detective's face.

The surprise and confusion on Sherlock's face was so comical that it had John leaning on the chair beside him as he forced himself to contain his laughter.

That soon changed when the next missile caught him in the crotch. It was not particularly painful, but the shock instinctively made him cover his vulnerable parts.

Glaring at Sherlock who was trying to explain himself in between bursts of laughter, he grabbed the pillow and making his way over to the detective who was now helplessly rolling over on the ground, hit him with as much force as he could muster.

Sherlock still helpless with laughter, brought up his hands to shield himself from the attack. Then reaching out he wrestled out the pillow from John's grasp and reciprocated the attack.

John now left without a weapon of attack, cast a desperate glance around and spotting another pillow partially hidden under Sherlock's armchair, leaped over the coffee table and gathering the 'weapon' held it in front of him like a shield.

Sherlock jumped up and with the pillow held up, rushed to where John was standing and proceeded to hit him with it.

John for his part, rallied efficiently and dodged a majority of the attacks while landing a few solid hits of his own on Sherlock's now red face.

Hic. "Sto ... Stop that, John" giggle.

Giggle. Snort. "Take that, you ... ".

Sherlock momentarily lapsed in his attack to catch his breath and had his pillow plucked out of his hands. He stared in surprise at his empty hands and looked accusingly at John now holding two cushions and grinning triumphantly.

"That's not fair. You took my weapon!"

John's grin and Sherlock's eyes widened.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was watching telly. It was crap. But still, telly. All she wanted was a peaceful night. Just her, her cuppa and the telly. Apparently that was not to be.

She barely had time to raise her eyebrows in surprise at the footsteps thundering down the stairs when her living room door burst open and bounced off the wall.

A drawn out wail of "Mrs. Huuuudsooon" later she found a giggling, sparkly eyed and red Sherlock hiding behind her armchair.

"Sher ..." was as far as she got before a certain flatmate of Sherlock's came bursting through her living room, his appearance much the same as that of Sherlock's, except for a pillow clasped in each of his hand.

The pillows, however, seemed to have seen better days. They were covered with dirt and had lost most of their stuffing. She had the suspicion that if she were to make her way upstairs, she would find the missing stuffing covering the floor and living room of two truants who were currently waging a war in her room. At night. While she was watching telly. When all she wanted was a peaceful night.

Mrs. Hudson sighed. Really, she ought to be used to this by now.

Again "Boys ... " was as far as she got before John launched himself at Sherlock with what she assumed was a war cry.

She had hardly any time to stand up before Sherlock jumped up with a shriek and stood in front of the poor landlady. With John at her back and Sherlock at the front, she resigned herself to the fact that she would not be watching any telly now, rather, it seemed like she would be subject to missed hits from John's pillows and a night of two children running around her flat, throwing pillows at each other.

* * *

The clock chimed midnight.

All was quiet at Baker Street except for the quiet snores of a consulting detective and an army doctor.

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she caught sight of her boys sprawled together on her carpet, the pillows used as 'weapons' previously now beneath their heads as they slept on, dead to the world.

Smiling, she shook out a blanket and covered them.

Making her way to her bedroom she mused what she had done to gain such grown up children. They were certainly a handful.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.


	2. Fair fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Sherlock and John at the fair!?

"I don't think this is a good idea, Greg."

"I concur. For once John is speaking sense."

"Ha ha. Funny, Sherlock. You know ... I do actually use my brain. Just not as much as you use yours."

"Hmmm. That is debatable."

Sherlock, John and Greg were standing at the entrance of the winter wonderland.

"You two need a break. And it helps when I've just won the lottery. Everybody knows the winter wonderland is not for people with lighter pockets." Greg said, looking around at the colourful array of people, stalls and rides.

"You know, Sherlock, maybe Greg's right. We could take a break. Besides we could get all we want. He does insist on treating us." John said, with a sly grin.

"Now wait a minute. You are not about to rob me dry, are you? I still have to treat the wife to a dinner." Greg asked, eyes widening slightly.

"No, you're not. Your wife's gone to stay with her sister and probably doesn't plan on coming back for a long, long, long, long, long ..." Sherlock's rattling was cut off mid stream by the frustrated DI.

"Yeah, alright, alright. Just ... Do whatever you want. I can't backtrack now. God knows why I decided to spend my 500 pounds on you two idiots." Greg muttered.

"Great. John, lead the way."

* * *

Half an hour later :

"Gavin, hurry up."

"Yeah, I would if I could." Greg complained as he shifted the many parcels of sweets, desserts, junk foods, a huge stuffed bear, a plastic toy that looked a cross between an otter and a hedgehog, a packet of M & Ms and a fake swiss army knife.

"Greg, Greg, over here. We have to go on the roller coaster. Please, please, please. Say we can."

"Yes Lestrade. It does look terribly inviting. You can show your heroics by saving me when I ride it without the safety harness on. It would do wonders for your image. Just imagine the headlines : Brave Detective Inspector saves the world's only consulting detective at the risk of his own life."

Lestrade sighed, dumping the things he had been carrying onto the ticket counter (after an apologetic glance towards the ticket seller) and buying three tickets.

Really, what had he been thinking?

* * *

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh. Stop it. Stop it. John heeeeellllpp. I am going to die."

"Sheeeeerrrrrrlloooooocckkkk. You have been a good friend. We will meet again in heeeaaavveenn."

"Both of you shut up and open your eyes. The ride is over."

* * *

"Greeeeggggg."

"Lessssttrrraaaaadddee"

"No. We are not going again. I nearly had a heart attack because I thought that you had really removed your safety belts. I am not going again."

"Fine. Let's go on another ride. Hurry up."

"Wait. I am not just leaving all the food you bought with my money, on the counter. You wait until I pick it up, or I am not lending you any more money."

"Hmph" said two voices.

* * *

"Please."

"Yes, Gavin, please. I'll even lend you my scarf for one day."

"And I'll lend you my ... Christmas jumper."

"What the hell would I need those for?" Lestrade scowled.

"They're ours. And we are famous."

"Yeah. Women and men would kill to have them even if it is just for a day."

And there they were, the world's only consulting detective and his blogger, making puppy eyes at a certain detective Inspector.

"Seriously? Those eyes are not gonna work with me. Do I look like a grandma who melts at puppy eyes? Nope. Not going to happen."

Two minutes later the world's only consulting detective and his blogger walked out of the stall digging into the costliest and tastiest chocolate calzone found in the wonderland, with a detective Inspector loaded with colourful goodies of all shapes and sizes, muttering curses and profanities under his breath, behind them.

* * *

"You promised us." whined a particular Belstaff coated, blue scarfed man.

"Yeah, I promised you that I would spend my lottery to see you both get a break, not that I would accompany you in stupid games and rides." Lestrade said, glaring at the detective and another man who was currently licking up the last of his triple scoop chocolate chip ice cream [Which incidentally he refused to share with Sherlock, as the latter had dropped his equally costly salted caramel ice cream, resulting in Greg separating the both of them when Sherlock tried to lick the dripped ice cream on John's jumper].

"But Greg, you know everything. You are so clever. Surely ice skating must be as easy as ... um ... solving cases without Sherlock's help." John said, slyly trying to wipe his sticky hands on Greg's coat.

Lestrade scowled both at the sly insult and the sly sticky hands [which he none too gently slapped away] and sighed again.

"Fine. But don't blame me when you two land on your butts, because I am not helping you skate."

* * *

"Oww. Ouch. Just ... No, I can make it. I don't need you two 'helping' me."

"We are so sorry, Greg. We just wanted to skate hand in hand like the little kids. We had no idea that you were standing there." John said, gently slapping the DI on the back and wincing at the yelp that proceeded from the owner of the back.

"Now look here. You both dragged me out there onto the ice and then continued to slip and slide all over the place. And the one time that you do fall, you fall on me. Both of you. Why? Why me? Why is it Always me?" Greg asked, shaking his head.

He may as well have been talking to himself, for the next time he looked up, he was alone on the bench.

He looked around to find the two men [giggling]standing under a snow covered tree nearly indistinguishable from the surroundings due to the snow covering their own selves.

"Why is it Always me?" he muttered again, and got to his feet, groaning as he did so, to go after two men [read:children] who were wrecking havoc in his life. Again.

* * *

"What? Why? We just got here." Sherlock asked, frowning.

"And you wanted us to take a break, didn't you?" John backed Sherlock, crossing his arms.

"We've been here nearly the whole day. I am tired from carrying all your goodies. I am cold from chasing you two all around. I feel sick from going on in different rides. And I am hungry." Lestrade said tiredly, resting his chin on his palm and staring up at the two 'men' who remained standing with arms crossed and the mirror image of sulking children.

"You just ate a large hot dog." Sherlock pointed out accusingly.

"No, YOU just ate a large hot dog. And in case you were wondering, I haven't eaten anything except that cucumber sandwich which you proclaimed as disgusting after you spent ten pounds of my precious money on it." Lestrade took a deep breath. "Look, you both spent all my money and we can't do anything else without it. So let's just go home and we'll come back another day."

"But isn't the fair open just for one day?" Sherlock asked, looking at John in confusion.

Greg frowned then opening his mouth to deny, stopped himself. He nodded slowly.

"Yes. Yes ... yeah, the winter wonderland is open only once every year."

"Then I guess we won't come until next year." John whispered mournfully to an equally sad Sherlock, both of them looking around.

Lestrade blanched. He was never again going to a fair again. Let alone with these two.

"No. No, no, no, no ... The winter wonderland closes this year and won't open for another decade or two. So this is the last time we can visit it."

"Oh no."

* * *

Lestrade breathed a sigh of relief when 221 B, Baker street came into view.

Nudging the other two to get out of the car, he switched off the engine and stepped out.

Unlocking the door with the spare key Mrs. Hudson had given him, he coaxed Sherlock and John up the stairs a hand on each of their back, lest they fall asleep on their feet. The ride to Baker street had been miraculously filled with less talk and more droopy eyes and yawns from those two.

With a tired sigh he collapsed onto the couch in the living room after dumping the purchases onto the kitchen floor.

Sure that he had earned a respite, he leaned back and rubbed his tired eyes. He felt Sherlock and John fall onto the couch on either side of him.

As one both of them turned sideways and promptly curled up, using Greg's thighs as headrests.

Lestrade stared at them, wondering whether to feel honored at the show of trust or annoyed with the heavy heads resting on his aching legs.

Deciding on the former he let his eyes slide closed, smiling slightly at the the already sleeping miscreants.

He would have to make sure that they did not fall ill or catch cold tomorrow.

Oh, he would never be able to stay annoyed at them, would he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Please leave a kudos and a comment if you liked my work. Enjoy!


	3. Party time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Lestrade's birthday. And he has invited our two favorite characters. He just made a biiiigggg mistake.

John adjusted his tie and looked at Sherlock who was stretched out on the couch in his robe, his suit and tie lying neatly folded but abandoned on the table beside him.

"You know that you have to get ready sometime soon, right? Greg promised no cases unless we attend this party of his' " John questioned, taking a seat in his chair carefully so as not to wrinkle his newly pressed special occasion suit.

"Dull" responded the detective, for all appearances looking to be asleep.

"That's exactly how it's going to be if you don't have cases for the next three months. Greg is a man of his word. Attending his birthday party is a small price to pay if you are looking forward to solving cases."

Sherlock groaned and opened one eye to glare at his suit, then at John before getting to his feet and donning on the tux over his white shirt.

Then turning to face John again, he said, "I don't want to wear a tie. And most certainly not this one. It looks absolutely horrendous. And what kind of suit is this. It feels like I am wearing a jute bag. Couldn't Lestrade at least have the 'partygoers' wear clothes according to their wishes? The women are certainly free to wear what they want, after all. He just enjoys torturing me."

"He knows that allowed to your own devices, you would probably turn up at his place wearing your dress robe or God forbid, a sheet. And for your information this is what people generally wear when going to a party or a festivity."

Sherlock scowled, reluctantly fastening his tie. "Who else is going to be there?" he asked with a grimace, as he encountered a suited up image of himself on the mirror.

"Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Dimmock, Donovan, Anderson, a couple other people and you and me" John replied, and then with a grin added, "and of course, Mycroft."

"Mycroft? What the hell is my  _brother_  doing there? He never attends social events." Sherlock nearly yelled, whirling around and glaring accusingly at John.

"Don't blame me. It puzzles me how Greg managed to even call your brother. But he did. And now we'd better get going. Mrs. Hudson is probably waiting for us." John said, getting up and making his way to the door, with Sherlock reluctantly following him.

* * *

"Ha, there you are. Knew you'd come. Good idea, threatening you with no cases." Greg Lestrade greeted the two. Mrs. Hudson had floated off to speak with Molly who stood near the food table.

"Bloody good idea. I was the one stuck with the complaining idiot for three days" growled John under his breath, while said idiot watched the people around him with a scowl on his face but already analyzing each one.

With a glare he turned to the other two and said,"I thought you said that there was only about ten people invited. There are more then twenty disgusting humans here."

"No other way. You would never have come otherwise." said Greg with a shrug.

"And why did you invite Mycroft? He probably agreed because of the cake. Stupid fat brother. And there's music? And talking? Why didn't you warn me? Oh God, I hope you have a case worthy of this torture when this party ends, Lestrade." Sherlock rattled off.

"Oh, he does, brother mine. I can assure you. And I am not here for the cake. I came because Gregory invited me and I am doing a favor in return for the time he spends keeping you occupied with cases." Mycroft's voice floated from behind him as he stood behind Sherlock with his customary suit and umbrella.

Sherlock glared heavily at Mycroft then at Lestrade and finally at John. With a sniff he stalked off with a "come on, John" to a place not infested with troublesome brothers. John followed with a sigh and a look towards the birthday boy and the troublesome brother.

"See that he doesn't leave" Greg said to John, who nodded with another sigh, hurrying to catch up with Sherlock.

Greg exchanged a smirk with Mycroft.

* * *

"So, are we really going to stand in a corner until the party ends?"

"What do you suggest we do then?"

After a moment, two faces lit up with identical grins and mischievous sparks ignited within two pairs of eyes.

"Let's make this a party that Detective Inspector Lestrade will never forget."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Sherlock and John clinked their glasses and draining them, made their way to the DJ.

* * *

"...And so the minister had no choice but to excuse the man." Mycroft told a laughing Greg.

"Oh God. I don't know how you kept a straight face. That was the best joke I've heard in ages. This party is going good." Greg said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Apparently he had spoken too soon.

The gentle melody playing over the speakers changed and the softly swaying people looked up in confusion as 'Who Let The Dogs Out' by Baha Men started blasting in full volume.

With an agonized groan Greg and Mycroft looked over at John and Sherlock standing on the slightly raised platform near the DJ.

"This song is dedicated to Gavin ...(Greg, Sherlock) ... sorry, Greg Lestrade who turns ... um, I think 55 this day. Happy birthday, Lestrade. May you have many more unsuccessful cases so that you bring them to me. Cheers."

Sherlock surrendered the mike to John and stood behind him with his hands behind his back, the every image of an innocent but respectable detective.

John faced the still crowd who were looking at Sherlock and Greg [The latter having buried his face into his hands]. "Er ... right. That was a great speech Sherlock. A toast to the birthday boy."

Sherlock and John raised their glasses expectantly and waited for the others to do the same. When they didn't, they shrugged at each other and clinked their glasses with a cheerful "Happy birthday, Lestrade".

Now making their way towards the inspector [Encouraging people to dance and enjoy the song, along the way], they took their seats on either side of him. [Mycroft was mysteriously nowhere to be found].

"Alright Greg. This isn't usual, but we've got you a gift." John said, reaching into his pockets.

Despite his mortification, Greg looked up curiously. At first at Sherlock and John's earnest faces, then at the curious crowd gathered around them. Trying to block out That song blasting in the background, he reached out and received what looked like a hastily wrapped package.

A T-Shirt unrolled.

Amidst loud hoots of laughter from the people and snickers from Sherlock and John there came shouts of "Put it on".

Soon the whole room was shouting "Put. It. On. Put. It. On."

With grimace and a glare towards two particular men and a plea for help at another man [Who had mysteriously appeared again], Greg removed his suit and pulled the Tee over his white shirt.

Minutes later Sherlock and John dragged a man towards the center of the dance floor.

 _I depend on the Baker Street Boys,_ read the T-Shirt he was wearing.

* * *

Soon the crowd had parted to cheer a detective and a doctor having a dance-off.

The supposed center of attraction stood gloomily in the corner as he watched his guests including Molly and even Mrs. Hudson laughing at the the two miscreants.

_Why I ever invited them is beyond me. And 55! As if. Only Sherlock Holmes would make a 45 year old man 55 and also make him feel the same age._

"Why you ever invited them is beyond me, Gregory. Though I admit that they dance well. But anyways, I never knew you were 55. You looked a lot older. It's probably ..."

"Shut up, Mycroft."

* * *

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to Greg, happy birthday to you" Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Greg's neighbor came into view, wheeling a cake towards a very red Greg wearing a birthday hat and an abashed smile.

John who was filming the whole thing, raised an eyebrow to Sherlock who nodded and disappeared through the crowd.

When he appeared again, he was holding something behind him and he nodded to John again.

Handing off the camera to Dimmock who was standing near him, John made his way to Sherlock and asked, "Shall we?".

Exchanging purely sadistic grins, they pushed their way towards Greg who was being handed a knife by Mycroft.

"No, Greg" John stopped him, as Sherlock snatched the knife from a confused looking Lestrade,"You've got to make a wish. And you must close your eyes while you do that." he added, as Sherlock stuck a candle in the cake.

With a suspicious glance towards the two, Lestrade closed his eyes after a hesitant 'o-okay'.

"Well, I've made my wish. Shall we proceed?" he asked, after opening his eyes.

He stared in confusion at the open mouthed people around him. Mycroft looked like he was about to punch something. Mrs. Hudson looked resigned. Molly looked torn between amusement and anger. Donovan and Anderson had that look that commonly was present when Sherlock insulted them.

Speaking of ... Looked like Sherlock and John had disappeared during the few seconds it had taken him to make a wish. Then with growing trepidation, he looked towards the cake as the majority of the people's looks seemed to be directed that way.

What was once a no doubt delicious, large and his favorite Victoria Sponge cake and would have no doubt been enough for at least 20 people, now looked as if it wouldn't suffice even 2 people.

Two large, and large it was, pieces were missing from the cake. The remainder now looked like two triangles left as a show of pity.

And there was no doubt in Greg's mind as to who was , or rather, who were, the robbers.

* * *

"That was fast."

"Well, we did have only a few seconds."

A pause in which two burps were heard in unison.

"We won't be invited for any future parties."

"Thank Goodness."

A pause.

"But ..."

"Yeah, I know ..."

"Mrs. Hudson baked it. She may do it yet again for us."

"You think?"

"Not any time soon. But one day."

"Do you think Lestrade will give us any cases?"

"Well, we did attend his party."

A pause. A sigh.

"How much time do you think it will take them to figure out where we are?"

"They are idiots. Nobody looks on the roof. Much less on his own roof."

A pause.

"Here we are looking at the stars, just stretched out. People might talk."

"They do little else."

A cough. A slight shuffle.

"We kind of behaved like kids."

"Birthday parties are for kids."

A yawn. Another yawn.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Leave a kudos and a comment.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos and a comment. I'll update soon.


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